


Immortal Love

by MimiWritesHerFandoms



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-02-23 03:25:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13181364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiWritesHerFandoms/pseuds/MimiWritesHerFandoms
Summary: A drabble series based on an anonymous request: The reader was a nurse back in the 40’s with Buck and Steve and her and Buck were together. When Bucky falls from the train she is devastated when Steve tells her and she goes for a walk and gets captured. She gets the serum and her and Bucky are kinda like a pair of winter soldiers. They remember how important they are to each other. When Bucky escapes she thinks he’s dead.





	1. Part One

 

“She’s been inconsolable since I told her,” Peggy said, leaning over the table and putting her hand on his arm. “I-I didn’t know -”

“That her and Bucky were together?” Steve murmured. He wiped a hand down his face, brushing the tears from his cheeks. “Not a lot of people did. They kept it quiet, low key. But, yeah, for a while now. They met right after the 107th got out, when the nurses and doctors were looking everyone over. Bucky charmed her.” He shook his head and chuckled. “Buck always liked nurses.”

You could hear every word they were saying - Peggy trying to console Steve, and Steve blaming himself for Bucky’s death, the things they were saying about you, the weight of their stares on your back. You wanted to be with them, wanted to have someone to share your grief with, but your body felt like it was made of lead, you felt like you couldn’t move, couldn’t push yourself off of the stool you were sitting on. You knew it was your heart, heavy with grief over the loss of the man you loved.

You lifted the drink in your hand to your mouth, or you tried to anyway; your hands shaking so badly that the alcohol sloshed over the side of the glass, droplets of liquid appearing like magic in the dirt covering the mahogany bar top.

A wave of crippling grief washed over you. You’d had your first drink with Bucky at this bar, danced your first dance with Bucky right here, shared your first kiss with him just outside the front door. Steve wasn’t lying when he said Bucky had charmed you. You’d fallen for him, fallen hard. You’d been in love with him and he with you. You’d been planning your future together, your life after the war.

But Bucky was dead and all of that was gone.

The thought propelled you out of your seat, stumbling through the rubble of the bombed bar, Steve calling after you. You ignored him, rushing headlong out into the street, not watching where you were going, not knowing or caring which direction you were running. You just wanted to get away, far away from the pain, from the memories of Bucky.

You weren’t sure how long you ran through the streets, the sound of bombs exploding overhead, deafening, the buildings quaking as you sped past them. The tears blinded you, tears for Bucky, tears for what could have been. When you finally stopped, tripping over a chunk of wood on the sidewalk that brought you to your knees, you fell against the nearest wall, exhausted, no longer sure where you were. You slid to the ground, wrapped your arms around your legs and let the tears fall.

The pain was sudden, acute, sending you to the ground, your hand to your head. It came away tacky with blood. You rolled to your back, trying to see what, or who, had hit you, but your vision was blurring as your consciousness faded.

“Tell Schmidt we found her,” were the last words you heard.

 


	2. Part Two

 

“Again!”

You pushed your hair out of your face and rose to your feet, facing your opponent. He came at you, no mercy on his face, no attempt to pull his punches, no chance he would go easy on you. You parried his punches, matching him blow for blow, no holding back on your part, no attempt to go easy on him, either. You kept attacking, pushing, pushing, pushing, until his back was against the wall. A smile flitted across your lips.

His metal hand closed around your throat, freezing you in place. He squeezed until you began to sag, falling to your knees, both of your hands wrapped around the metal wrist, trying and failing, to get him to release you.

“Bucky, please,” you gasped, your eyes rolling back in your head.

You fell to the floor, Bucky’s eyes, wide with concern, the last thing you saw before you passed out.

* * *

“It didn’t work! Do it again!”

“But sir -”

“Do not argue with me. You will wipe them, again. Both of them. They cannot and should not remember anything. Or anyone. Especially each other.”

You opened your eyes, just enough to see that you were in the chair, the clamps in place, holding your head still, the restraints holding you down, unable to move your feet or your legs. Bucky was across from you, in much the same position, an additional metal vise grip keeping his prosthetic arm in place. You wanted to call his name, wanted to tell him you remembered, you hadn’t forgotten him, tell him that you still loved him, but the plastic mouthpiece obscured your words, gagging you.

“In order for them to work most effectively as a pair, some memory must remain, they need to know they are important to each other.”

So the argument continued. You’d heard those words before, every time a mission was complete, every time you were put in this chair. Some of them wanted you to remember Bucky, and he you, wanted you to know you were important to each other, if only because it made you both a deadlier assassin. But there were others that believed all memory of your love for each other should be wiped, that your love for each other was a weakness. It was a constant battle for control of your minds. You and Bucky were nothing but pawns in their game.

Frustration made you fight against your bonds, made you struggle to break free. You couldn’t take this anymore, couldn’t stand another minute so close to Bucky, yet so far away from him. You screamed, the sound muffled by the plastic mouthpiece.

The clang of metal hitting the floor silenced you. Bucky had ripped the arm from his chair, disengaging the clamp on his arm, the metal you’d heard falling to the concrete floor. A technician flew across the room, slamming into the wall, his head at an odd angle. You struggled to break free of your own restraints, but you weren’t as strong as Bucky; though the serum flowed through your veins, you did not have the metal arm as he did, so strong he could rip a car in half with just his left hand. 

But he was coming for you, you and you alone his sole focus, his blue eyes flickering with recognition as they devoured you. Your heart was pounding in anticipation as he threw aside equipment in his single minded quest to get to you. He reached for you, his hand on your leg, the metal cold against your skin, your name falling from his lips.

Before he could rip you free of the bonds that held you, Bucky fell to the ground, the needle still hanging from his neck, one of the doctors standing behind him, chest heaving, eyes wide and frightened.

“Wipe them. Now.”


	3. Part Three

 

“There are two Winter Soldiers?” the man asked.

“Da,” Karpov responded. “For now.”

“For now?”

“Let us just say that there are plans to remedy that situation,” Karpov said.

“You have access to more serum?” the man inquired. “Where are you getting it?  _ When _  are you getting it?”

“Soon.”

* * *

The car was just ahead, rounding the curve. The Winter Soldier revved the engine and pulled alongside of it, two taps to your knee indicating he was ready. You drew your gun, took a deep breath, and aimed, waiting.

It was just a twitch, a subtle movement, but one you knew well. He was ready.

You fired, the bullet shattering the passenger side window, exiting the drivers side window, startling the driver enough that the wheel jerked left and the car slammed into a tree. The motorcycle stopped, turned, and returned to the crash. You followed the Winter Soldier, gun drawn, prepared to protect him at any cost. Your role, your sole purpose on this mission - protect the Winter Soldier and do as he instructed.

He ripped the trunk open, followed by the case inside. It was filled with blue serum. Six IV bags of serum.

A jolt coursed through you, a flash of memory. 

_ You, the Winter Soldier - no, Bucky, his name was Bucky - both of you strapped to a table. There was a needle in your arm, blue liquid flowing from the bag hanging above your head into your arm, pain like you’d never felt before coursing through you, literally pumping through your veins. You were screaming, screaming, the agony too much to bear. You could see Bucky struggling to get to you, struggling to free himself from his own bonds, hear him calling your name. You opened your mouth - _

“Sergeant Barnes?” the man said, confused.

Startled, you swung around, gun raised, pointing it at invisible demons, demons from a past you couldn’t remember. That name, the voice, why were they familiar?

The Winter Soldier didn’t even flinch, didn’t acknowledge that the man on the ground had spoken. Instead, he grabbed the man and hit him in the face repeatedly with his metal arm, over and over until you heard the crack of bone shattering. He dragged the dead body back to the car and shoved him behind the wheel, then he stalked around the back of the car, put his hand through the window and wrapped it around the throat of the woman in the passenger seat. Within seconds, it was over, her windpipe crushed. He pulled his gun, fired several shots at the camera, disabling it, then he was on the motorcycle, gesturing for you to join him.

You slammed the case containing the serum closed and pulled it from the trunk, mounted the motorcycle behind the Winter Soldier, your hand on his shoulder. Two taps from your fingers and you were gone, the murder scene fading into the dark.

 


	4. Part Four

 

“Get him ready,” Pierce ordered.

“Her too?” the doctor asked.

“No,” Pierce shook his head. “I don’t want to take the chance that she recognized Rogers as well. It’s bad enough that Barnes did. Lock her down, keep her on stand by, wipe him, and get him ready to go. I’m not sure how much time we’ve got.”

“The man on the bridge. I knew him,” you’d heard Bucky whisper, just before they shoved him into the chair. You watched as Pierce refused to listen to him, hit him, prepared to use him, forgetting that he was human, that he was more than “the asset.”

You lunged for Pierce, your hands clamping down on his shoulders, digging in, your only thought to protect Bucky, stop him from hurting Bucky. It took four men to pull you off of him, four men to restrain you in the chair across from Bucky, four men to stop you from ripping Pierce to shreds when you saw Bucky’s face, when you heard the pain in his voice as he talked about the man on the bridge. 

Bucky had only had a few seconds to talk to you when the two of you had returned, only a few seconds to ask you if you remembered the man on the bridge, too. You’d seen the confusion in his eyes, heard the uncertainty in his voice, the doubt in his mission. The thought crossed your mind - not for the first time - that you could run. But they’d come for you before you could so much as open your mouth.

They strapped you down, restrained you, forced you to watch as they wiped Bucky’s memories, wiped him clean for the fiftieth, hundredth, thousandth time; you’d lost count of how many times they’d wiped Bucky, wiped you, destroyed what you had, what you knew, what you believed. Destroyed your love for each other.

Your eyes locked with Bucky’s crystal blue ones. Everything he couldn’t say was reflected in the tears sliding down his cheeks.

“I love you, Bucky,” you whispered as the electricity burnt through his memories, destroying them. Again. 

* * *

“We’re burned.”

You could hear papers rustling, doors slamming, people shouting. You tried to sit up, tried to move, but you were strapped to the table, restrained. You strained to hear the men outside the door.  

“Pierce is dead, S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA have been exposed. It’s over.”

“The asset?”

“He’s gone.”

“What do you mean he’s gone?”

“He was last seen on one of the helicarriers, helicarriers that have been destroyed and crashed in the Potomac. Chances are he’s dead.”

The Winter Soldier. Dead. It couldn’t be, it wasn’t possible.

“Bucky,” you whispered.

The door swung open. “Put her in cryo. We need to get out of here.”

“No,” you murmured, struggling against your bonds. “Please, no.” They needed to let you go, set you free, let you find Bucky, let you find the Winter Soldier.

The needle went in the side of your neck, the liquid sedative cold as it traveled through your veins, blurring your vision, making your muscles heavy, knocking you out.

 


	5. Part Five

 

The memories returned slowly. The visit to the museum had helped, a little. Seeing himself side by side with Steve Rogers, Captain America, had been a jolt, a shock. Rogers had been his mission, a target to be killed.

But, they’d been friends, he and Rogers.  _ Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield _  according to the Smithsonian Institute’s ostentatious display. He’d thought Rogers was lying when he’d said Bucky was his friend. But the proof was right there in front of him - old newsreel footage, archive records, old photographs.

His name  _ was _  Bucky. Or James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, according to the display at the museum. The only Howling Commando to give his life during the war. Steve Rogers’ best friend, his friend since childhood. He had stood in front of that display for nearly an hour, waiting to remember,  _ wanting _  to remember. He’d finally left with only the words of the narrator echoing in his head.

Sleep did not come easy that night and what little there was, was plagued with nightmares. Nightmares of pain, torture, murder, deception, unimaginable sins committed against humanity, all done by his hands. And a woman, there was always a woman, she was always there, always with him, the sins hers as much as they were his. He felt like he knew her, like he had known her for years, not as long as he’d known Rogers, but for a long time. For some reason he felt like she’d been important to him, special, she had meant something to him. He just didn’t know what it was or why.

There was an ache, a need to find her, to be with her. Wherever she was, he had to find her, had to save her, because he knew, deep in his soul, that she was in danger. He also knew he couldn’t let anything happen to her. That was as important to him as finding out the truth of his past.

Bucky spent two days in D.C. waiting for the dust to settle. They thought he was dead, drowned in the river, washed out to sea by the current. But that didn’t mean he could stay. Eventually they would find him, eventually they would come for him, they would want him to pay for his sins as well as HYDRA’s. Maybe they were one and the same. And eventually, he would pay for those sins, pay with his life if necessary.

But not until he had some answers.

Late on the second day, he slipped into the hospital, undetected, and made his way upstairs. He stole a doctor’s coat from the locker room, grabbed a clipboard, and slipped through the locked doors onto the floor where they were keeping Rogers.

He got as close as he could, but they were keeping Rogers under heavy guard, only approved visitors and authorized doctors and nurses allowed inside his room. Bucky couldn’t slip past them, not without being recognized. He had to settle for standing outside the room, staring at the man who had been his best friend a lifetime ago, the man who might have all the answers, the man who might be able to tell him how he knew the woman haunting his dreams.

His hand closed around the wooden window frame, squeezing, the wood shattering under his metal hand. He brushed his other hand through the hair hanging in his face, frustration and anger warring inside of him. He pushed away from the wall and quickly left.

He would just have to find the woman on his own. He would get the answers he needed from her.


	6. Part Six

 

Dead.

The Winter Soldier was dead.

You were moved, HYDRA burned, the few remaining loyal operatives scattered. You were put in the cryostasis chamber, locked away. Your last thought as you went under was of brilliant blue eyes sparkling with life, a smile that had made your heart beat faster, a kiss that made your head spin.

“Bucky,” you murmured.

* * *

Pain, worming through every nerve ending as your body came awake, oxygen coursing through your veins, bringing you back to life. Memories rushed back, filling your head.

“Longing.”

“No,” you moaned. “Please, no.”

“Rusted.”

You squeezed your eyes closed, shaking your head from side to side. “No, please, not again.”

“Furnace.”

The words were stealing the memories from your head, the few you were able to cling to when you were pulled from the cryostasis chamber, memories of  _ him _ , memories of Bucky.

“Daybreak.”

“Don’t do this,” you gasped, your hands locked on the arms of the chair, squeezing hard enough to leave dents.

“Seventeen.”

You could feel it, the programming kicking in, wiping out everything about you, the words flipping the switch that turned you into a deadly assassin. Another Winter Soldier.

“Benign.”

A bloodcurdling scream flew from your throat, the pain in your head indescribable, excruciating, fine point needles stabbing into your eyes, red hot pokers penetrating your brain.

“Nine.”

You screamed his name, the sound echoing off of the metal walls, bouncing back to your ears. You screamed for him to save you, to rescue you, but he never came.

“Homecoming.”

“Please, I’m begging you,” you panted. “Do not do this.”

“One.”

You drew in a stuttering breath, then pushed it out, your body, your brain, preparing you for the inevitable.

“Freight car.”

The last word brought everything into sharp focus, your struggle ending, your breathing becoming steady, your heart rate slowing. Your head came up, your attention on the man standing in front of you, the red notebook with the black star clutched in his hands.

“Ready to comply.”

* * *

Your instructions were to keep him alive, long enough for him to watch them tear themselves apart, long enough to watch them destroy themselves. He had everything ready, you were to act as his guard. When it was over, your orders were to kill him, then yourself. No questions. Your final mission.

You heard them before you saw them, their voices carrying through the quiet halls. There were three of them, though you’d only heard two voices. The third was silent, not speaking, for whatever reason. You craned your neck to peer through the small window when the light appeared, coming not from a flashlight, but from the center of the man’s hand, and his chest. He seemed to be in some kind of metal suit, covering him from head to toe. He was followed by two other men, one carrying what looked like a shield, the other armed with a gun...and a silver arm.

You faltered, your weapon dropping, eyes widening as a flash of memory hit you out of nowhere.

_ He laughed, his head thrown back, a twinkle in his bright blue eyes. _

_ “C’mon, doll,” he chuckled. “One drink. That’s all I’m asking.” _

_ “I don’t even know your name,” you mumbled, shaking your head. _

_ “Bucky,” he grinned, taking your hand in his. “My name’s Bucky.” _

“Bucky?” you whispered.

The man you were to protect - Zemo - hit a button and his voice sounded over the intercom. You weren’t listening to him, your attention on the three men in the room, in particular the one with the silver arm. You felt like something was clawing at your brain, trying to free itself, desperately trying to break free of the programming keeping your memories on lockdown.

You flinched when the shield hit the metal and ricocheted back, caught easily in one hand by the man dressed in blue. Zemo was talking again, something about destroying an empire from the inside. He hit another button and a tape began to play on the screen in the center of the room, mirrored on another screen in the control room where you stood.

_**December 16, 1991**_.

You didn’t watch the screen, you didn’t have to, the memory had locked into place the second the video had started. Instead, you watched the men in the room, watched the horror, the realization, the  _ understanding _  unfold on their faces as they watched the murder of Howard and Maria Stark.

“Let’s go,” Zemo ordered, taking your arm and pushing you toward the door.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the man in the iron suit, his face a mask of pain, turn on Bucky. He was going to kill him, you knew it, you could feel it in the marrow of your bones.

You couldn’t let that happen. You ignored Zemo’s orders to follow him, to do as he commanded, your need to protect Bucky overshadowing your previous orders. You spun on your heel and ripped open the door, throwing yourself into the madness.

 


	7. Part Seven

 

He didn’t see her, not right away. It wasn’t until he was halfway up the silo, scrambling to reach the hatch, blindly following Steve’s order to go, that he looked behind him, looked down to see her standing half in the shadows at the bottom of the silo, staring up at him.

The woman from his dreams.

He froze, watching as she stepped free of the shadows, gun raised, pointed at Stark. She fired, the bullet ricocheting off of his suit. A scream of frustration left her and then she was rushing forward, scaling the silo, following Stark. A starburst went off in his head and it was suddenly flooded with a million memories. Memories of her.

“Y/N, no!” Bucky screamed.

Steve was right behind her, moving just as quickly, his eyes wide with shock, darting back and forth between Bucky and the woman. Steve recognized her.

Everything was happening too fast, it was all a blur. Desperate to put some distance between himself and Stark, he was climbing the silo, heading for the hatch, but he couldn’t stop looking over his shoulder, trying to see her, see Y/N, who was directly behind Stark, racing to catch him. She fired her gun again, aiming for and hitting Stark’s left foot, the suit already damaged thanks to Steve hitting it with his shield. Stark dropped thirty feet, allowing Bucky to reach the top of the silo.

Seconds later, the mechanism holding the hatch open exploded. Bucky fell, nothing to stop him, his shoulder slamming into the walkway, tumbling, tumbling until he hit the ground, knocking the wind out of him. 

As he laid on his back, struggling to breathe, a blast from one of Stark’s repulsors destroyed the catwalk beneath Y/N’s feet, sending her falling two stories before her hand snagged the mangled end of a catwalk, a strangled scream leaving her as tissue in her shoulder tore from the sudden stop.

Bucky struggled to his feet and grabbed Steve’s shield, rushing to join his friend at Stark’s side. He was barely thinking, moving by rote memory, letting his training, his programming, guide him. All he wanted was to get out of this alive, nothing more. He wasn’t thinking when he latched onto Stark, his hand wrapping around the Arc Reactor in the chestplate, hellbent on destroying it and stopping Stark, slowing him down. He screamed, years of agony, hatred for himself and the things he’d done let loose in one primal cry as his metal fingers burst through the chestplate and he squeezed.

There was no pain, just a blinding white light, and heat, intense heat, and then he was staggering backwards, falling to his knees, holding himself upright with one arm. One.

Bucky heard her scream, saw her limping toward him, her hands clenched in fists at her sides. He could only watch as she launched herself at Stark, his arm coming up, connecting with her midsection, her body flying across the room and slamming into the concrete wall directly above him. She slid to the floor, blood gushing from both nostrils, from her temple, her eyes rolling back in her head as she lost consciousness. She didn’t move, even when he reached over and took her hand.

The fight continued around him, Steve and Stark, hand to hand, battling it out, over him. He wasn’t worth it, he’d told Steve he wasn’t worth it. But Steve hadn’t changed, stubborn to the very end.

He was barely conscious when Steve pulled him off the floor and slung his arm over his shoulder. He was conscious enough to moan Y/N’s name, to insist Steve help her. Bucky wasn’t sure how he accomplished it, how his friend did it, but he somehow managed to get both of them into the quinjet and get it in the air.

Bucky wasn’t sure where they were going or what they would do when they got there. All he knew for sure was that he was miraculously still alive and Y/N was beside him, unconscious, shit he wasn’t even sure she would wake up. But she was there, she was tangible, real, not a figment of his imagination.

The woman from his dreams.


	8. Part Eight

 

You opened your eyes, just enough to see where you were, not wanting to alert whoever was holding you captive that you were now conscious.

The room was stark white, clean, like a hospital room. You shifted, realizing for the first time that you weren’t restrained. You opened your eyes and looked around the room. You were alone.

You sat up, slowly, the sheet pooling in your lap. There was a pitcher and a glass of water on the table beside the bed, condensation sliding down the sides of both. The door was open and, from what you could see, unguarded.

You stretched your arms out in front of you, wincing at the ache in your left shoulder. There were stitches in your head, only a couple, along with a knot roughly the size of a silver dollar. You were wearing a plain white tunic and plain white pants that looked like something a doctor might wear. You pushed the blankets off and gingerly stepped from the bed, tiptoed across the room to the door, and peered out.

“Y/N!”

You gasped and shuffled backwards, your feet tangling together, the man leaping forward to grab your arm, stopping you from falling. You vision seemed to double, superimposing the man in front of you over a slightly younger version of himself, a more innocent version, one whose eyes didn’t hold the wisdom of a thousand painful memories.

“Captain Rogers?” you mumbled.

“You remember me?” he asked.

You reached behind yourself, found the bed, and carefully lowered yourself onto it, nodding. “Y-you were Bucky’s best friend,” you whispered. “My friend, too.”

Captain Rogers nodded and smiled. “That’s right. You remember Bucky, too?”

“Yes.” You swallowed around the lump rising in your throat. “I-I loved Bucky.”

“You did,” Rogers nodded. “And he loved you.” He cleared his throat. “Do you remember anything? About what happened to you?”

“I remember everything.” Your voice cracked on the last word, the sob held back by sheer force of will. “Why am I still alive, Captain Rogers? I should be dead for the things I did. I don’t deserve to live.”

“That wasn’t you, Y/N,” he said. “That was HYDRA, the brainwashing. Neither you nor Bucky are responsible for what you did. That wasn’t you.”

You could no longer hold back the sob or the tears. You buried your face in your hands and let loose, your body wracked with agony over the things you’d done, the people you’d murdered. You were alive, but you didn’t want to be.

“Steve?”

You recognized the voice immediately, your head coming up, eyes widening as he stepped into the room.

Bucky.

“Can we have a minute?” he asked.

“Of course,” Steve smiled. He squeezed your hand and patted Bucky’s shoulder as he left the room, closing the door behind him.

You didn’t know whether to go to him or not. Every fiber of your being wanted to throw yourself at him, smother him with kisses, drown yourself in everything that was the man you had always loved. Instead, you fidgeted nervously, staring at him from your seat on the bed.

“What happened to your arm?” you murmured.

“It’s a long story,” Bucky replied. He pointed to the bed beside you. “May I?”

“Of course,” you nodded, sliding over to make room.

You stared up at him, unsure what to say, what to do. It had been so long, so long since you had been Bucky and Y/N instead of a pair of trained assassins, the Winter Soldiers. You could barely remember what the two of you had been like before your world had been torn apart.

“Bucky -”

“I know,” he whispered. He took your chin between his thumb and forefinger and kissed you gently.

You collapsed against him, the tears flowing freely, the years of pent up emotion spewing out of you. Bucky held you, murmuring softly. He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you down onto the bed, wrapping himself around you, protecting you, comforting you, loving you. You cried until you couldn’t breathe, until you weren’t sure there were any tears left inside of you and then, you cried some more. You cried until you were exhausted and sleep overtook you. And when the nightmares came in the middle of the night, Bucky was there.

* * *

“You sure about this?” Steve asked.

“I can’t trust my own mind,” Bucky said. He took hold of your hand, squeezing it gently, giving you a reassuring smile. “So until they figure out how to get this stuff out of our heads, I think going back under is the best thing...for everybody.”

You nodded, smiling at Bucky. He was right; until they could figure out how to clear the Winter Soldier programming from your head, from both of your heads, going back into cryostasis was the only way to make sure that everyone stayed safe.

Bucky embraced you, pressed a kiss to your cheek, and murmured “I love you” in your ear. He kissed you breathless, then he stepped into the cryo chamber and closed his eyes.

“Your turn, Y/N,” Steve whispered.

You nodded, kissed two fingers and pressed them to the glass, right over Bucky’s lips. You mouthed “I love you, too” as the door of your cryo chamber closed, your eyes never leaving Bucky’s, even as the cold embraced you and your consciousness slipped away.

_**THE END?** _


	9. Part Nine

 

“Bucky?” you murmured. You reached for him, stretching your arm out across the makeshift bed. He wasn’t there.

Fear seized your heart, squeezing it tight. It was a feeling you were familiar with, a feeling you lived with almost daily; fear that Bucky would leave you, fear that all of this was a cryostasis induced dream that you would wake from at any minute, returning to the nightmare that was your life as a Winter Soldier.

You could hear children laughing, hear them calling the White Wolf. You smiled and climbed to your feet, wrapping the colorful material of the dress around yourself before stepping outside. Bucky was standing at the edge of the water beside Shuri, the young princess that had helped both of you so much. It had been Shuri who had helped the two of you to overcome the programming that had ruled your lives for more than seventy years, Shuri and her brother, T’Challa, the king of Wakanda.

Bucky’s arm slid around your waist, hugging you to his side, his lips pressed to your temple. You laced your fingers with his and rested your head on his shoulder. Shuri was talking, something about both of you having a lot to learn. By the time she left, your head was spinning.

“You okay?” Bucky asked, leading you back toward the small house the two of you occupied.

“I’m scared,” you shrugged. “This world...it’s...well, it’s a lot different than it was when I was... than it was before.”

“It is,” Bucky agreed. “But, you know Steve is going to help us -”

“I know,” you murmured. “I’m just not sure where I fit in all of this...this world. I’m an assassin, a killer.”

“Not anymore you’re not,” he insisted. “We’re not. We aren’t those people anymore.”

“We were those people once, though,” you snapped, pulling yourself out of Bucky’s arms and rising to your feet.. “How do we know we won’t be again? How can we be sure whatever it was Shuri did is going to work?”

It was the same questions you had everyday, the same fears that kept you awake at night. It was an endless cycle, one you couldn’t seem to get away from. They whirled endlessly in your brain, stifling you.

Bucky grabbed you, stopping your furious pacing. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tight. You pressed your face to his chest, dragging in his familiar scent, relishing in the fact that you were able to be in his arms once more. Everything was better when you were with him.

“I promise you, everything will be okay,” he whispered.

If only you could believe him.

 


End file.
